It occurred to me that if the Grim Reaper keeps up to date, he's probably using a weed whacker these days instead of a scythe. Anyway, he would unless he's decided that we're all idiots and he doesn't want to bother with extension cords or gasoline and whatnot.
I guess that's a little morbid--thinking of being cut down at the end of one's life by a weed whacker.
So this one time I went and talked about my problems for free, this morning, and it ended up being largely about David, and the guy commented that, wow, this is still pretty strong. Which seems obvious to me. Not thinking about something isn't the same thing as getting over it. Anyway talking about all this and thinking about how we're going to be seeing a lot of each other for a while, starting Sunday, made me feel a little ill. I mean I'm sure it'll work out somehow, but I doubt it'll be much fun.
So after I got home I was walking around the backyard like the freaking harbinger of death, whacking the crap out of those weeds. Now my hands feel odd.
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